As the World Rises
by Kira the Great
Summary: Karel Vojtisek from Dark Blue World and Hannibal Lector from Hannibal Rising chance to meet in the forests of France. What will happen when these two strangers meet and where will they go? Dark Blue World Hannibal Rising Crossover
1. Chapter 1

AN: An attempt to get something done that I actually am motivated to write…since nothing else has come my way, I decided this was as good an idea as any…Karel Vojtisek is one of the main characters from the Czech film _Dark Blue World_, and of course, Hannibal Lector is from _Hannibal Rising_. The actors to play these roles are Krystof Hadek (Karel Vojtisek) and Gaspard Ulliel (Hannibal Lector), so I hope that helps (though not many people know who Krystof Hadek is…).

Both characters take place in World War II, so the time does match up (sort of lol). This is if they had perhaps met—I realize Karel is older than Hannibal in the actual time-stream, so let's just pretend they end up being around the same age, or something…yeah, I don't know…Karel is pronounced "Kah-rel," and it helps to see the movies, of course lol Maybe this will convince you to watch the wonderful _Dark Blue World_. :D

I'll shut up now. Enjoy, and leave many comments, please…

As the World Rises

Chapter One

Hannibal Lector wrapped his arms around himself, his breath coming and going in puffs of steam in the early morning air of France. He had managed to get across the borders without too much trouble, considering the many people looking for him. He stumbled over some leaves, feeling his stomach growl. He hadn't eaten since he had left crossed the border. He was headed southeast, towards a cheap boat to Canada.

He looked up, hearing Gatling fire over his head just in time to see three planes glide past. One of them was shot down—a Messerschmitt—and the other two peeled off, preparing to head back towards England when out of nowhere another Messerschmitt appeared, firing on one of the planes.

It was hit on the tail and went down into the trees nearby. The other pilot was unable to come to the aid of his companion because more of the Messerschmitt pilots arrived, chasing him from the area.

Deciding a dead pilot was better than nothing, Hannibal headed towards the crash site, knowing that the Germans would land where their comrade was before they came after the enemy. He reached the wreckage and saw the young pilot attempting to get out of the airplane before it ignited and blew him sky-high. He finally managed to and began to run across the field, the flames from the engine following him on the ground as he left behind a trail of gasoline. He stumbled and began to roll around, trying to wipe the gasoline from his boots.

Hannibal licked his lips, not sure whether or not he should go after the boy. He was forced to pause when the Messerschmitt pilots circled above. If they saw him, they would fire without hesitation. They pulled their triggers and bullets showered down on the helpless pilot. All Hannibal had to do was wait and watch and soon he would have dinner…

The plane exploded, sending debris into the air, warding off the closing Messerschmitt planes, and the pilot managed to scramble into the dense forest. Now that the Germans could no longer hit him, he was left with minor wounds from the crash and one giant hole in his shoulder where one of the bullets had grazed him.

Hannibal took this chance and scampered across the field and into the forest, following the trail of blood. He found the pilot pulling off his goggles and hat, crying in pain from the hole in his shoulder. He jumped when he heard Hannibal approaching, but couldn't move—his body was far too tired, far too injured. He looked at Hannibal with his soft, brown eyes, and for a moment, Hannibal wondered if he was hungry enough to eat this boy. He wondered who he was.

"Parle vous françias?" he asked.

The pilot shook his head.

"Do you speak English?"

The pilot looked terrified and was shaking too much to reply.

"Well? If you don't tell me, I'll eat you."

This scared the pilot even more and he attempted to scoot away from the older boy standing above him. His jaw was trembling, tears rolling down his face. He had never thought he would cry so easily before, but now was as good a time as any to find out. Being wounded was one thing—being threatened with cannibalism was something completely different.

"I will give you one more chance," said Hannibal adjusting his glove. "As I have not eaten in many days, it might be wise for you to reply. Start with your name."

"K-Karel Vojtisek," he replied with a heavy swallow.

"Karel, hm? Well, I must admit, I am a little disappointed that you can speak. I was looking forward to some dinner," replied Hannibal. "I am Hannibal Lector. Have you heard of me?"

Karel shook his head violently.

"Speak."

"N-no, I have not," his English was raunchy, telling Hannibal that much like himself, it was not Karel's first language. "I have been fighting in the Royal Air Force, an English pilot."

Hannibal nodded and approached the boy, who quickly moved backwards again until his back was pressed against a tree and he couldn't move any further. He was shaking, his eyes drifting shut and then jumping open from the amount of blood he had lost.

"Don't worry, Karel," said Hannibal calmly. "I will not harm you…I keep my word."

Karel shook his head, and promptly passed out.

Hannibal tore off part of Karel's jacket and used it to tie off the wound. He examined the boy quickly for anything that was as serious or that needed such attention, but found few others. Those he did find he patched with more pieces of Karel's coat. He then left to find wood for a fire and perhaps some little morsels…yes, he was quite hungry. If Karel wasn't awake by sunrise, Hannibal would have little choice but to eat his fill.

xxx

Karel opened his eyes, his head throbbing. His eyes swept across the dark forest, landing on a figure hunched over a flickering fire. The fire was small enough that it wouldn't attract too much unwanted attention, but was big enough that it was slowly roasting a few squirrels.

He sat up slowly, the leaves under him rustling, the stranger turning and looking him over with his cold eyes. "You're awake."

Karel suddenly remembered that this person had threatened to eat him and shoved himself backward into the tree, gasping in pain as he moved his injured shoulder.

"You should not move," he said calmly, poking at the small rodents with a stick. "I can see by the look on your face that you do remember me, but possibly not my name." A glance and then a nod. "I am called Hannibal Lector."

Karel swallowed and nodded, but didn't say anything in reply.

"You certainly are a quiet one," said Hannibal, eyeing him. "Are you like me, perhaps? A deranged mind out to see the world to its knees?"

"I-I am a pilot in the—"

"Royal Air Force, yes, I know," replied Hannibal, sticking one of the skinned squirrels and pulling it from the makeshift spit. He held it out towards Karel. "You told me just before you went unconscious. Eat. It was troublesome catching them and cooking them for you."

"Y-you said you would eat me?" asked Karel, taking the speared rodent and examining it. He was hungry and his stomach growled at the smell of the cooked flesh, but he couldn't quite stomach the thought of eating a squirrel.

"Yes, if you did not reply to me," he replied taking his own meal and biting into it without any physical reaction to the hot meat. "I must admit, I am sorry that you did…however, I do keep my word."

Karel pulled his legs closer to his body and bite tentatively into his squirrel. He gasped as the hot meat burned his tongue. He quickly swallowed the bite and sucked on his tongue, trying to cool it off.

Deciding to make small-talk while his food cooled, Karel said slowly, "Your English is very well. How do you know it?"

Hannibal took another bite and said, "_Good_."

"Thank you," replied Karel, confused. "But you did not say yes to my question."

"No, you meant your English is very _good_, not well," replied Hannibal. "And you mean to say that I did not _answer_ your question, not _say yes_."

Karel just looked at him blankly. Some of the girls back on the base had told him something very similar, but he still didn't quite understand.

"I suppose it's pointless to try and teach you," replied Hannibal as he cleaned the bones with his fingernails.

Karel looked down at his own meal, which was still steaming and far too hot to eat just yet. He wondered how Hannibal could have eaten his right off of the spit. However, he decided not to dwell on this fact—even though Hannibal had helped him, he could still be dangerous…perhaps he was even a German. That might be why his English was so much better than Karel's.

The pilot tried not to dwell on this and instead asked, "Why are you in France?"

Hannibal tried to ignore the choppy structure and answered softly, "I am on my way to Spain, so I can get to Canada."

"Why Canada?"

Hannibal glanced over at Karel and said, "I'm having some old friends for dinner."

Karel shivered. There was something about Hannibal that he didn't like…and yet, he was drawn to him. The fact that he had saved his life made Karel feel as if he owed the older boy his companionship, or at least his trust.

"Would you like to join me?"

Karel jumped. He hadn't expected Hannibal to talk to him again. "N-no."

Hannibal raised one of his sleek eyebrows, his lips quirking. "You should leave this place—it is a bad place."

"My comrade will come for me," replied Karel, though his tone sounded doubtful. "He will not leave me behind."

Hannibal cocked his head to the side and said softly, "You put too much trust in people."

"What?"

"They will destroy you; you are to naïve," he replied, looking at the squirrel in Karel's hands.

Karel lifted it to him and Hannibal accepted it without question. He tore into the meat, glad to have something in his belly, though wishing it were something bloodier and, well, human. He had acquired a taste for human flesh over the past few months and the cooked squirrel tasted bland and dry in comparison.

His eyes lifted to Karel and he watched the younger boy squirm. It made him smile, his dimple pinching in his left cheek. "I think you should join me. We could be great together…"

Karel shook his head. "I have my job—my planes."

"You can fly elsewhere."

"My comrades…my people…they are…"

"Under the Nazi regime," replied Hannibal with a raise of his eyebrows. "Yes, I know. Where are you from?"

"Czechoslovakia," replied Karel carefully.

"My, my, what a long way from home," Hannibal finished off the squirrel and put the bones into the fire where the remaining tendons sizzled and popped. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Canada would be better suited for someone like you."

Karel shook his head. "I cannot go with you. I thank you for your help, but I must fly and fight the SS."

Hannibal cocked his head to the side, wondering why he was so intent on having this boy join him. Perhaps he just felt sorry for him—or, perhaps he was looking for something tasty to eat on the way to Canada. He wasn't quite sure. Suddenly a thought entered his mind—Karel had mentioned his comrades and his people, but not his family.

"Where is your family, Karel? With the Nazi's?"

Karel looked away and pulled his arms around his knees.

"I see. Karel," said Hannibal, standing and dusting his slacks off, "We are the same, you and I. You have lost everything and fight for something that you cannot retrieve. Give in—even if you win this fight, there will always be something that will come to take your victory from you."

Karel shifted his eyes to Hannibal. "How can you know this?"

Hannibal turned his cold eyes away and murmured, "I know from experience."

"Ex…Experience?" asked Karel, not familiar with the word.

"I have been through it before."

Karel shook his head. He still didn't understand.

"If you come with me, then we will come back and save Czechoslovakia," tempted Hannibal.

"How?"

"The Canadians will help."

Karel looked down at his shoes and thought. It was a tempting offer, but how would he know for sure?

"Trust me," said Hannibal. "If you come with me, you will not lose your life."

"If I stay, I will not," he replied.

"What is there for you here?"

"Frantisek Sláma."

"Who?"

"Franta," replied Karel. "He is my comrade—like my brother."

Hannibal nodded carefully and put his hands in his pockets. "Is this who you think will come to help you?"

Karel nodded.

"He is a pilot?"

Again, a nod.

"He will not help you," replied Hannibal. "He is bound to his duty and cannot help you. He will wait for you to return, and even when you do not, they will presume you dead. It is better to die now and return a hero than to die in reality and not return at all."

Karel just shook his head. His English wasn't nearly as sophisticated as Hannibal's, but it sounded convincing enough to him. He stood up and nodded. "If you promise we will come back."

"Dear boy, I promise nothing," replied Hannibal, and he turned into the dark forest, Karel behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Karel pushed aside a branch of a tree as he followed Hannibal through the forest. The sun was rising. It was their fourth day together and as they walked, Hannibal called back words for Karel to repeat.

"Exceptional."

"Askeptonel."

"_Exceptional_."

"_Xeptonal._"

Hannibal, surprisingly enough, wasn't frustrated with Karel's attempts at the words. Perhaps it was because Karel really was trying his best. "_Exceptional_. Pay attention to how it rolls off of your tongue."

Karel scrunched his face up and tried again. "_Ex-sep-ton-el_."

"Close. Again," he commanded, this time not giving the example for Karel to follow.

"Exseptional."

The sound was very close—close enough that after having Karel repeat the word three more times, Hannibal moved onto the next word: "Exasperating."

"Xazper—what is it?"

"To be violent," he replied. "Now say it: Exasperating."

"Exzazperateng."

"_Exasperating._"

"Exasperating."

Hannibal smirked. At least the boy was learning quickly. "Repeat it three times."

"Exasperating, exasperating, exasperating," said Karel.

"Give the definition."

"To be violent," repeated Karel as they climbed a hill. They were getting close the southern borders of France at long-last.

"Good," said Hannibal. They stood on the crest of the hill and looked out at the countryside. His stomach grumbled and he held it, looking out at the farmhouse nearby. His eyes slid over to Karel. He was hungry and Karel was readily available, and weak, too. The two of them had been eating mainly rabbits and squirrels since they had met, but with the sight of a small farmhouse in the distance, Hannibal felt that he didn't need to kill Karel just yet.

He started down the hill and towards the farmhouse. Since there wasn't a single house for miles, this wouldn't be difficult and no one was bound to interfere.

"Where are you going?" Karel asked, following him down the hill.

"To get some breakfast," replied Hannibal.

"Oh, I see," replied Karel, a smile forming on his face. No doubt Hannibal was going to ask the nice people for some food. He jogged along behind the older boy, the smile plastered to his face at the prospect of a real meal. He thought of fluffy waffles and rich syrup, but his heart fell when he remembered things like those had been outlawed when the war had started. It was certainly different when one wasn't actually fighting in the war anymore. One almost forgot that there _was_ a war.

By the time they had reached the small house, the sun was at nearly ten o'clock. Hannibal lifted one of his gloved hands and rapped on the peeling white door, waiting calmly for an answer.

Karel rubbed his hands together. It didn't matter how high the sun got—it was still freezing outside. He blew into his hands, wishing he had better gloves, like Hannibal's.

The door creaked opened and a young woman, perhaps still a girl, squinted out at them, her blonde hair tied up in braids behind her head, sheltered from view with a white hat. She wiped her damp hands on her white apron and asked in French if she could help them.

Hannibal asked, "Do you speak English?"

She nodded, "Yes. What I do for you?" Much like Karel, her English was very, very choppy and unused.

"I might be too forward in asking, but we have been traveling for many days and have had little food. Could you perhaps spare a morsel?"

She squinted at them and finally replied, "Five francs a piece, and not a bit less."

"Done," replied Hannibal.

She nodded and opened her door for them to come in without bothering to ask where they were from. Doing such a thing had become risky—asking the name of a capital city had once been the norm, but by now everyone knew everyone else's capital city.

She motioned at the table and Hannibal and Karel both sat. "I will make cold bread and pork."

Hannibal eyed her carefully and asked, "Who lives with you, mademoiselle?"

"My husband."

"Where is he?"

"In the fields," she replied calmly as she poured two small glasses of milk and coffee and put some bread out, thinly spreading butter over the surface. She left to the cellar to find some salted pork and returned moments later with the meat. She cut it accurately into two squares of three inches and set it on the plates. "I cannot give you more," she said, setting their meals on the table.

Karel smiled and unfolded his napkin. "Thank you, it looks…wonderful? Did I use it well?"

Hannibal nodded and lifted his knife delicately and began to cut into the pork.

She held her hand out. "Ten francs."

He lowered his knife and reached into one of his pockets, pulling the money out and handing it to her. She stuffed it into a pocket in her apron and left the kitchen to return the rest of the pork to the cellar.

Karel pushed a piece of the pork into his mouth and frowned slightly. "It is stale when it is cold."

Hannibal nodded and replied, "It is the best we can do for now." He cut the pork carefully, listening for when she returned up the stairs. "Karel, look outside. Do you see her husband?"

Karel leaned back in his chair and looked out into the field. He squinted against the sun and finally nodded. "He is near the forest."

"How far?"

"A half-mile, one o'clock."

Hannibal nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a gulp of the milk. The coffee he could do without for now.

The young woman returned and stood, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes focused on them like a hawk on a pair of snakes.

"Mademoiselle, perhaps you could refill my milk?" Hannibal asked, lifting his empty glass to her.

"That will be three francs," she said coolly.

He nodded and pulled the money out.

Karel's jaw nearly dropped. How could he be spending money so readily in such a hard time?

The young woman approached Hannibal and reached for his glass, took it, refilled it, and brought it back to him without spilling a drop. She took his money, but he grabbed her wrist. Before Karel could even gasp and before the girl could scream, Hannibal had his knife in her jugular.

Blood splattered against the walls and table, dripping along the silver blade of the knife. Hannibal caught her body and lowered it to the ground, kneeling beside it and licking the knife carefully, his heart skipping a beat at the fresh taste of warm blood. He leaned in and began to cut delicately along her cheeks.

"Karel, keep your eyes on the husband and keep eating," he commanded, but Karel couldn't pull his eyes from the gruesome scene.

Hannibal looked up to Karel, his mouth and teeth red, drooling with fresh blood. "Do as you are told!"

Karel turned his head stiffly towards the window, but froze, his eyes still locked on Hannibal devouring the girl's face and the fleshier parts of her arms. His throat was dry, his stomach churning, his breath coming shakily. He had never actually _thought_ that Hannibal would eat someone else!

The door opened and the husband came in, wiping his hands off on a towel. "Marie, j'ai—"

He froze, his eyes locked on Hannibal.

Hannibal looked up, blood dripping from his chin onto the dead girls pale face. He turned to glower at Karel before grabbing the knife again and jumping the man, slicing his neck open.

Hannibal turned to Karel and snarled, "I told you to keep watch on the husband!"

Karel opened his mouth and closed it, unable to say anything.

Hannibal shook his head and motioned at the man. "You will have to eat him, now. We cannot let this go to waste." When Karel didn't move, Hannibal demanded, "Well? Do you want me to eat you, too?"

Karel jumped to his feet and backed away from Hannibal. "Y-you're insane!" he shouted. He turned to run from the house but Hannibal grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. He pulled the younger boy close to him, pressing the blade of the bloody knife up against Karel's jugular.

He breathed into Karel's ear and said softly, "I am who I am. You have chosen to join me on my trip to Canada. If you leave, I will find you and kill you."

He released his grip on Karel, who stumbled into the table, his shoulders shaking, his eyes wide. He slowly turned to look at Hannibal, swallowing, his throat dry and stiff.

"Well? What will you do now, Karel?"

Karel's eyes shifted to the dead husband on the floor, the blood pooling around his limp body. "I-I can't…"

"Can't what?"

"E-eat him," replied Karel, sweat rolling down his face. "I can't eat him!"

"You caused his death," said Hannibal. "You neglected your job as watchman, and so he is dead. If you let his body rot uselessly, then you will starve. There will be little food for miles, and if we are to survive, we will need food."

Karel swallowed again, wondering what it was Hannibal was telling him—half of the words he didn't recognize, but he knew, somehow, that Hannibal was going to force him to eat the dead man.

"Here," Hannibal flipped the knife around so that the handle was facing Karel. "Slice the meat into thin strips and wrap them in her apron. I will do the same with her."

Karel took the knife with shaking hands, considering for a moment killing Hannibal. The second the older boy turned away, he lifted the knife. Hannibal, however, merely said, "If you kill me, you will be lost. The French will only be kind as long as the Germans are kept at bay."

Karel lowered his arm and looked at the dead man.

"Cut the cheeks and the arms, over the stomach, and the thighs and buttocks. Those are the tenderest places and will supply the best meat."

Karel nodded and lowered himself to his knees beside the dead man. Rolling the man's sleeve up, he began to gruesome task. Halfway through the first cheek, Karel turned away and threw up his pork and bread. He heaved again, his chest on fire, his hands shaking. He couldn't believe he was actually cutting someone up.

Hannibal merely continued to do as he had been, taking a slice into his mouth every now and again, savoring the fresh taste, knowing that it would be gone before long.

When Karel had finished nearly an hour later, Hannibal had already tied his slices in a now blood-soaked apron. Karel stood, his knees shaking violently under him, and he leaned against the table so that he wouldn't collapse.

He wiped his mouth and looked over at Hannibal, who promptly took his bag and examined it and nodded. "Good enough."

He left the house, and Karel looked down at the two dead bodies. He made the sign of the cross and gave a quick prayer, and left the house, stumbling out onto the porch and into the blinding light of the noon sun. Hannibal was already crossing the field, and Karel considered turning and running back the way they had come, but found his feet following Hannibal instead. He was drawn to the other as a fly to the shimmering web of the spider.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: I'm sorry for not updating anything lately ( I've been extremely busy with my novels, finding work, etc. However, now that I'm on summer, I'm going to try to update more.

On a brighter note, I hope you enjoy this chapter, the newest and latest in my Hannibal Rising/Dark Blue World cross-over! That is, if anyone's still reading it lol If you are, please feel free to make premonitions on what's going to happen next or how the story's going to end! Though depending on how I feel, it may be a while off…or it may end next week. I can't be sure.

…I'm rambling again. Wow. Please enjoy!

Chapter Three

Karel covered his mouth with his hand. He leaned over the edge of the railing, looking down into the choppy sea. Never once had he imagined that he would be seasick. He was reminded of Tom Tom's death, his heart aching at the memory of loss.

Hannibal was over on the top of a barrel, slicing what was left of their cured meat, putting strips into his mouth and chewing slowly. He raised his eyes to Karel, his lips spreading into a smirk.

The ex-pilot leaned away, looking into the whitecaps again, now feeling regret for leaving with Hannibal. He missed Franta already, but something inside told him that he would see Franta again. Even so, it was as though he had left his own brother behind. He felt sick and leaned over, pressing his head against the cool top of the railing, his eyes reeling, lifting and falling with the waves below him.

He felt a hand on his back, and Karel rolled his head to see Hannibal looking down at him. He lifted a strip of the meat. Karel turned his head away, his stomach lurching, memories of the murder spinning in his head. He groaned and held his stomach.

"Come on," Hannibal said. "People are looking at you. We have to find you new clothes."

Karel turned his eyes back to Hannibal, wondering what it was that the other boy was hinting at behind the suggestion. He had learned over the last few days that Hannibal operated on many levels. He would say one thing and mean something completely different. Over the time he had spent with Hannibal, he had come to the understanding of many things that were Hannibal: He wasn't just smart, he was clever and sly; he wasn't just manipulative, he understood how people's minds worked; he wasn't just sadistic, he was sadistic with a flare of style. These were just some of the things Karel had come to notice over time, and he felt that there was more to come. This thought made his gut reel with such ill that he had to swallow hard to keep from allowing anything to come up.

"What do you mean?" he croaked, trying to keep his stomach straight and his head from spinning.

"New clothes," said Hannibal softly. "You stick out too much in this." He pulled on the hem of Karel's navy-blue jacket. "Come with me—I found someone just your size."

Karel swallowed and shook his head. "No. I don't care how they look at me—I will buy something in Canada." His English had improved immensely, Hannibal noticed. It was from all of the effort the two had poured into the language so that they wouldn't seem as suspicious when they purchased their tickets to Canada.

"If they look at you, they look at me," Hannibal whispered, putting the next slab of meat between his small teeth and chewing, his red eyes focused intensely on Karel. They had an almost animalistic look in their crimson depths. "And I don't like to be looked at."

Karel shivered. He knew where Hannibal was going with this conversation and gave in. He followed the other boy shakily across the deck and down to the cabin below. There was a man, undressed and unconscious, leaned up against the stock barrels, his mouth gagged and his hands tied. He looked older than Karel, but was small enough that his clothes would fit Karel.

Karel thought that perhaps Hannibal would have killed the man, but much to his relief, the man was very much alive. Apparently Hannibal wasn't foolish enough to kill someone on such a confined ship, where the body would be soon found and the killer caught. Hannibal handed Karel the clothes that he had folded on a nearby barrel and Karel changed into them.

"Help me," Hannibal said taking Karel's old clothes and pulling his pants on the other man. Karel pulled the pants up but kept his belt, and with Hannibal's help, he pulled the shirt, tie, and jacket over the man's shoulders.

Hannibal retied him and motioned for Karel to follow him out of the room. Karel glanced back, wondering why Hannibal hadn't just let the man go. Was he planning on eating him during the remainder of the trip? Karel shivered at the prospect of watching Hannibal eat another person.

They continued back onto the deck and across to the other side. Karel followed Hannibal down towards the cabins. He felt the boat rock to one side, and he stumbled hard into the wall. He held himself up for a moment by the railing, his face sticky with sweat. He clutched his chest. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe by the second.

Karel just couldn't understand why. He had taken a ship from Northern France to England only a few months ago, but now it was as if he had never traveled one before. He had never felt so sick in tight places, either. The cockpit of a plane was much, much smaller than the insides of the boat.

He felt Hannibal's hand on his back again, and a shiver rolled up his spine. He swallowed hard and turned his pale, clammy face up to Hannibal's. Their eyes met, and Karel quickly looked away.

"Come on," Hannibal said. "You can be sick in the room, but out here you'll draw attention."

Karel nodded and followed Hannibal down the hallway. He stumbled forwards as the boat hit another roller. His stomach dropped violently with the boat, and he fell onto the floor.

Hannibal turned around, his eyes narrowing fiercely. He walked back over to where Karel had fallen, rather elegantly in fact. It was almost as if he moved with the boat, not separately from it. He kicked Karel gently on the shoulder, but Karel didn't move.

Kneeling beside his companion, Hannibal felt Karel's pulse. It was faster than it should have been, and his neck was hot. The cannibal narrowed his eyes in thought. He licked his small teeth and carefully lifted Karel from the floor, carrying him just down the hall to their room. Once inside, he closed the door and set Karel on the lower bunk. He returned to the door, locking it tightly, and then turned back to Karel.

Hannibal checked Karel's pulse again, and then pressed the back of his hand to the pilot's forehead. His thin lips curled into a frown. Karel wasn't seasick. He was sick with something else—and from the way his shirt was becoming soaked with perspiration around the neckline, Hannibal could only guess that the illness was something formidable.

Here, he minded his hands, washing them off carefully from the small sink in their room. He dried them and returned to the bed, looking down at Karel. Hannibal knew that first he had to get Karel's temperature down. If he didn't want this meal to rot, he would have to get it through the illness as efficiently as possible.

He returned to the sink and put a cloth under the cold water, wringing it out, and then folding it. Hannibal placed the cloth over Karel's forehead, and then carefully removed the brown leather jacket from Karel's shoulders.

Hannibal knew it was dangerous to stay in a locked room with a sick man. He looked out the porthole and noted that they were high up enough that he could open it. He did, fresh cool air blasting into the confined quarters.

The cannibal then left the room to find means of medicating his next meal. He walked down the hallway, glancing in and out of rooms. Most of them had their doors closed. When he did reach an open room, Hannibal looked in and found it to be empty, but occupied. He walked in and poked lightly through the clothes on the bed. Two women were staying in this room. He made a note of their sizes—both of them were fairly small.

Hannibal looked through their dressers carefully and finally found what he was looking for—aspirin. He left the room and returned to his and Karel's. Karel had already managed to make the washcloth hot, though it was still damp.

The cannibal removed the cloth and placed it on the edge of the sink. He filled a glass with water and returned to Karel's side. He sat the younger boy up and pressed an aspirin pill against his lips. Karel's eyes slid open, and then shut again, and in his delirium, he began to murmur.

Hannibal took this chance to push the pill into Karel's mouth. He put the lip of the glass against Karel's mouth, and carefully tilted Karel's head back. Karel drank the water slowly, Hannibal pulling it away before the boy drowned himself. He felt Karel's throat to make sure that he'd swallowed the pill.

He laid Karel back against the pillow and put the aspirin beside the bed, returning to the sink to ready another washcloth. He put the cool cloth against Karel's forehead, put the small tin trashcan beside the bed, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Whatever Karel had, Hannibal was going to be sure not to catch it.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Ach! I'm sorry about the slow work! I'm working on my novel's pretty heftily…please feel free to read them on http // www . fictionpress . com / efirndamcdannak I would love to hear what you think of them, and I hope that you will not give up on me for this story! Thank you again for your time and patience!

Chapter Four

Karel's forehead was wet with sweat, his skin chalky white when the boat splashed up against a wave. Hannibal was standing beside the porthole, his crimson eyes focused on the swaying sea. He was keeping a close eye on his new companion, making sure that the pilot wasn't becoming too ill for his own good.

_Not that any good is coming of this,_ thought Hannibal. He glanced at the younger boy, asking himself why he was so bothered by this. Was he, Hannibal Lecter, the cannibal, becoming human?

This was not something that pleased him.

Hannibal adjusted his jacket about his shoulders and approached Karel's bedside. He moved the pillow under the pilot's head, dismayed to see that it was soaked in sweat. Applying what he knew of medicine, Hannibal again gave Karel the aspirin pill and water to cool his throat. The pillow was exchanged for another and Karel's forehead was given a cool cloth to bring down the fever.

There came a knock at the cabin door and Hannibal approached to open it. He could see the drunken form of a sailor on the other side.

Deciding it to be a rather useless endeavor, Hannibal left the door shut and returned to the porthole. He wished to open it, to feel the cool sea air against his face and to feel the sick of the cabin leave him. He wondered if the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat was from Karel's illness, or if it was from his own paranoia.

The banging came again and Hannibal ground his teeth together. He would not open the door—not if the man outside was truly drunken.

"Ugn…"

Hannibal looked in time to see Karel roll onto his side and drop with a _thud_ onto the cabin floor from the narrow bunk. With a shake of his head, Hannibal approached the boy to place him back in the bed. Karel was heavy but still lighter than before the illness had struck.

Lifting the boy back into the bunk was a chore, but was completed nonetheless. Hannibal returned to the door to see if the sailor was still there. He was not. Hannibal was relieved and returned into the room. The door hung open for a few seconds before it occurred to Hannibal that should the sailor come back, he could easily come into the room.

Did it matter, though? Was Hannibal more interested in keeping Karel safe, or his secret secure?

After all, the dead boy had been found some days before and the boat was in an uproar, wondering when the killer would strike again and who it would be to die. The cannibal thought this over as he stood in the center of the room, his body swaying to the motion of the sea-bound boat. The food on this boat was…unsettling at best. At worst, well, it was simply grotesque.

There came a sound from Karel's clothes and Hannibal was stunned into unmoving. The sound came again and there was the static-eroded sound of a voice coming through on the other end. Hannibal lifted the jacket from a chair and noted that what was making the noise was a radio.

_It must have been clipped to Karel's flight jacket,_ Hannibal decided. _And he couldn't part with it…_

It was English in make, giving Hannibal reason to finally believe Karel's story about being in the Royal Air Force. He turned the radio over and waited to see if the voice would come again.

_Karel...Kar-el…it is me…Slama…come…Karel…_

The voices were so broken and the English so badly strewn about that it took Hannibal a moment to decipher it. He pressed the microphone to his lips, the cord crackling and snapping when he replied, "Karel is asleep. This is Hannibal Lecter. Who is this?"

_Franta…Karel…sleep…who is this?_

Hannibal was easily annoyed by Franta's slow grasp of who he was speaking to.

_Where are you?_

The signal was better—for the moment.

"We are on our way to Canada," replied Hannibal.

There was silence on the other end, and when Hannibal checked to see if there was a signal, he noted the radio had gone out. Replacing the bulky, but still transportable radio back into Karel's new jacket, he wondered…would this Franta Slama try to find Karel?


End file.
